


just a speck of dirt (within the galaxy)

by buckyjerkbarnes



Series: lost stars [2]
Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Justice League (2017), Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Barry's POV, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Gen, also v/ self-indulgent, barry gives steve a lil shovel talk, barry ships wondertrev, because I love the idea of diana being a bit of a mom to barry, do please read part one, for that scene where bruce is a complete ASSHAT to diana about steve, i'm sorry i don't make the rules, it fills in any gaps/questions one may have, kind of?, minor spoilers for justice league, more like a study of the dynamics between diana AND barry, not a stand alone fic, nothing major I swear, small fix it i guess?, touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-04 23:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12781989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyjerkbarnes/pseuds/buckyjerkbarnes
Summary: Barry knows within about two seconds of meeting Diana that he'd do just about anything to make her smile.It's when Bruce throws "her dead boyfriend" in her face that Barry is absolutely positive he, without hesitation, would punt Batman right off the highest building in Gotham to keep such utter devastation from plaguing Diana's features again.[Or: Barry is the sweetest bean, Bruce stops being so much of an asshole for a minute, and Wondertrev thrives. I mean come on- after all the mentions of Steve in Justice League, how could I not write this?]





	just a speck of dirt (within the galaxy)

**Author's Note:**

> So Barry Allen stole the show during Justice League and I love him with all my heart? I cannot wait for Flashpoint given (according to IMDb) Gal will be in it as Diana and I can't wait to see their interactions together. This is so, so self-indulgent I cannot even try and defend myself in saying it isn't. Also, I'm so sorry about the huge gaps between postings: I've started my first year of college, am in the process of getting a job, and just started my fall break so I churned this out to try and get my creative juices flowing again. Enjoy!

Barry knows within about two seconds of meeting Diana that he'd do just about anything to make her smile.

It's when Bruce throws "her dead boyfriend" in her face that Barry is absolutely positive he, without hesitation, would punt Batman right off the highest building in Gotham to keep such utter devastation from plaguing Diana's features again.

 

( * * * )

 

See, Barry knows loss, okay? He _knows_ it. He can recognize the taste of it in all its bitterness, can identify the feeling of it trying to climb up his throat to smother him from the inside on the worst days and the way it clings to the backs of his teeth, like he’s consumed too much salt on the days that it’s somewhat bearable. So when Bruce drops a name—Steve Trevor—and Diana bursts forward to sucker punch him where the halves of his ribcage meet and Arthur doesn’t bother to hide the his smirk at Bruce’s grunt of pain, Barry’s jaw ticks.

It’s why he drops a completely serious: “You know, if she kills you, we’ll cover for her.”

He said that, primarily, to try and make Diana smile.

She doesn’t. There isn’t even a pitying uptick of the muscles at the corner of her mouth. Victor tipped his head up, his one human eye catching Barry’s as he gave a small shake of his head. _This is a landmine none of us need to step on, Allen,_ the pointed look said. Barry repressed a huff, but only just.

The worst part was the distance in Diana’s dark eyes where there was normally a deep, shining brown; there was distance, as though she had retreated to a time and place known only to her, a location that Barry can’t follow her to no matter how much he wished he could.

Once there was nothing left to say and the polarizing plan to revive Superman using the Kryptonian-what’s-it pool was settled for the evening, Diana slipped out the room silently. Barry made to go after her, but it’s Arthur that stopped him this time around, that grabbed him by the arm, that said: “Leave her be, kid.” His eyes were pale and unsettling and frankly Arthur scared the shit out of him, but his gaze also brimmed with something like understanding. 

So, in silent support of Diana, he went to a table of important-looking tools that Bruce seemed to frequent and scattered them around the Batcave in as many obnoxiously out of reach places as he could come up with.

 

( * * * )

 

When everything was said and done and Superman—“call me Clark, please”—had been revived and de-Pet Cemeteried with Steppenwolf and his para-demons nothing but the huge insects of Barry’s nightmares, he was nearly caught overhearing a conversation that was not meant for him.

Nearly was used in an objective sense, here. He got caught, for sure.

He was just about to hit the pantry for a snack when Bruce’s voice came out of the kitchen, low and gravelly as it always was. “What I said, about Steve… I’m... I am sorry, Diana. I needed you to agree to the plan any way possible. I was scrambling for something to get under your skin, to try and reason with you, and I went too far.”

She didn’t say anything, not at first, and when she eventually did, her words were quiet, like she’d half detached herself from the conversation. “Whenever I have disagreed with you on past endeavors, I never pressed you or patronized you on how you handled your grief for what happened to Clark, nor have I ever mentioned your parents in any ill-manner. In the future, if you ever wish to sway my opinion, I hope you have learned not to do the same with Steve. I hope you have learned how negative a picture it paints you to the team and will never repeat that action again.”

Bruce had, somehow, managed to drop his voice to an even lower, more pained octave. “I won’t,” he murmured. “I swear it.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes,” he claimed and Barry was nearly thrown for Bruce’s lack of hesitation.

“A promise is unbreakable,” Diana said on the note of finality. “Do not be so foolish as to break this one. Not with me.”

When she glided past Barry, she didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to for him to feel thoroughly chastised.

 

( * * * )

 

Diana was the last of them to leave. Well, Barry was technically the last of them to leave the Wayne property given Arthur left on the first high tide, Clark understandably returned to Metropolis to be with his mother and his fiancee, and Victor headed out to be with his father. Barry didn’t really have anything else to do, though, but Diana had a day job elsewhere and really needed to get back to it.

He was going to go right after she did: even though he seemed to value the company, it was plain as day that Bruce was not a people person and the constant exposure to others was wearing on his temperament. Alfred muttered as much. Barry was going to take Bruce’s private plane back to Central City around six, but first he planned to see if Diana needed any help packing her things.

Her door was cracked when he arrived at it and she told him to come in before he’d even raised a hand to knock. He pushed the door further inward. There was a black bag half open on her bed and, when the light hit just right, he could see her lasso glimmering inside. "Need any help?" 

Of course, she shook her head in the negative. "No, but I would very much enjoy your company." 

Barry beamed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and dipping his head a few degrees. "So, what exactly is it that you do when you're not kicking ass and beating up bad guys?"

Diana's mouth curled into a half-smile. Her hair was tied back in a smooth ponytail and she wore dark black pants with a burgundy blouse, a charcoal coat draped over her chair waiting to be tugged on. "I work at the Louvre in the Ancient Greek department. I catalog artifacts, ensure the preservation of any pieces that are of significance to the history of a time forgotten by many." 

"An Amazonian demigoddess, daughter of the top-tier Greek god, works in the section of one of the biggest museums in the world dedicated to her ancestors," Barry didn't bother holding back a laugh. It made Diana grin. "Somehow, that was the very first and very last thing I expected you to be doing." 

"I'm glad I can still surprise you," she hummed. The same look she had on her face when she slipped her lasso around Arthur's ankle and had the poor guy spewing all sorts of comedy gold surfaced to her features. Barry both thrummed with excitement and with a sort of half-fear. "Has Bruce told you my age?" 

He stared, head tipping to the side in consideration. "Uh, like, thirty? Max?" 

"No, Barry," Diana said, crossing the room to her closest and plucking out two garment bags. She carried them back, taking a great deal of care in draping them into her suitcase. "I am over five thousand years old." 

He kept staring. Kept staring until his eyes burned from lack of blinking. Suddenly, her comment about working with children made about one hundred and ten percent more sense. "You're shitting me," Barry gaped, clapping a hand over his mouth at his profanity until he spotted the grin on Diana's face, only half hidden as she lowered her head to arrange things in her bag. "Ashton Kutcher is going to roll out from under your bed and a whole camera crew is going to come out of your bathroom to tell me I've been Punk'd, right?" 

She shook her head, chuckling, her laugh sweet like wine. Barry didn't even drink wine for fuck's sake. "I cannot believe after all you've seen in the last week alone, it is my age that puts you over the edge." 

"No, no. No," he said. "I mean, yeah, a little bit? It explains how skilled you are, given you've had all that time to refine your powers and stuff, and it definitely shows how you've gotten all your intelligence. Wait. I didn't mean to make it sound like you couldn't be as smart if you  _were_ only thirty. Of everyone, you could be and, uh, yeah." Barry put his hand back over his mouth to stop his lips from moving and making any other stupid noises. 

Diana took pity on him, taking the wheel of conversation and steering it away from disaster. She went to a small jewelry box, carefully clasping the side as she walked it back to her bed, tucking it in with her armor and doing up the zipper in one fluid motion. “If you ever wished to visit me in Paris, I’d be more than happy to make the arrangements,” Diana told him, slanting a smile at him. 

“Really?” he asked, touched, lowering his hand back to his side. If it were anyone else, Barry would have thought that they were just being polite, but this was Diana and he believed that she would come through with such a generous offer.

“Of course,” she confirmed. “I’d be more than willing to show you the sights, give you a tour of the Louvre.” Barry didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t have much an interest in art: it would be worth enduring hours of historical lessons just to see her ankle deep in her dynamic. He’d always admired people who got overly excited with their hobbies, who shined when they had an opportunity to share their interests with others. 

Diana moved to her bedside table, tugging open the drawer and collecting a leather-bound notebook, tucking that away into the side of a carry-on he'd not even seen her produce from the foot of her bed.  He hadn't noticed the object settled under the lamp light. Barry stepped closer, tipped in to get a look at it. 

It was a framed photograph, sepia-toned and handled carefully despite its age. It was of Diana, flanked by two men on either side of her. She looked younger, though she hadn't aged physically at all. It was something about the line of her shoulders, the lift to her chin. She didn't look so jaded, so worn by the world. "Di?" Barry asked, treading gingerly. "When was this taken?" 

"1918," she answered. All movement behind him ceased, like Diana had stilled, entirely focused. Bruce's harsh words from the cave rang back in his ears, echoing and hard:  _You shut yourself down for one hundred years, so don't talk to me about grieving._ "In a little village in Belgium." 

"Is...," he swallowed. "Is the guy on your right Steve?" 

She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. He turned away from the image, found Diana standing significantly closer than she had been when he first drifted to the photo. Just like he tended to do when left with silence, Barry opened his big fat mouth and started to speak:  

“My mom was killed when I was nine,” he said, trying for casual and getting small and strangled instead. Diana’s head snapped in his direction, looking like she could cut his hurt in two with her sword like his pain was a hoard of para-demons. He loved her for that. “My dad got blamed for it. He didn’t do it—I’d know, but no one would believe the word of a kid. I visit him as often as I’m allowed in prison and about every other time I do, he always tells me he misses mom. But I can never say it back. I never can.

“But I think about her constantly, yanno? I wonder if she’d be proud of the person I’ve become, how she’d handle me having powers. What it would have been like to have her and Dad at my high school graduation, just… just how differently things might have gone if she hadn’t been taken from us. Sometimes, when I see parents holding their kids hands on the street or I see them just eating in a restaurant, I want to walk up to the kid and shake them, say: don’t you dare be a brat ever again because you never know if you’re going to lose them. You need to value them with everything you have and even after you’ve scrapped the bottom of the barrel, you need to keep going and keep loving them.”

There are tears clinging to Diana’s eyelashes when he dared to look at her. Her jaw was tightened to the point that if he were to throw her shield at it, more damage would be done to the shield. She rocked forward, falling in beside him. They both looked at the black and white photo: this, he knew now, was the time and place out of his reach, but Diana was allowing him to follow, anyway. “There had been a plane filled with mustard gas and a madman had planned to unleash it on London. Millions of people would have died if it wasn’t stopped.”

He scanned the line of faces, lingering on Diana's before he landed on the man at Diana’s right with his strong jaw and his flopping, pale hair. Barry chewed his lower lip. “Steve stopped it?”

"Yes,” she whispered, the word practically strangled out of her. “Steve stopped it. He gave his life that day and losing him felt like I had suffered a fracture in my very soul.”

What he wondered of her next was this: “Do you still love him?”

Diana gave a tiny, wounded laugh. “Do you still love your mother?”

Put like that, he saw how stupid a question it really was. "I... I know you must have heard it more times than you can count, but I'm sorry, Di. I really am. You're such a good person: you didn't deserve to lose him." 

Her face was breaking his heart and when he heard her breath rattle through her teeth damply, Barry hauled her in for a hug, his arms curled tight around her shoulders. For a few seconds, she was still as one of the marble statues of old she surely worked on all the time, and then her hands rose to land between his shoulder blades, at the back of his neck. "I am sorry about your mother," Diana murmured. "And for the unnecessary distress you and your father have had to endure. Don't think you aren't good, too, Barry, because you are. You _are._ "

"I'm... I'm trying to a get a criminal justice degree," he confessed. The only other person who knew this was his father, but it felt right telling Diana. They'd already shared more with each other in the past twenty minutes than they had since they'd met. "I want to try and challenge the case." 

"Good," Diana murmured. Barry hated that he now knew her accent grew stronger when she was upset. "I may not be a lawyer, but I can try and help where I can if you'll allow it." 

"Yeah, shit, yeah, of course." He didn't say  _out of everyone, I think I have a better chance with you running headlong into a long-fought battle with me than doing it on my own_. Barry didn't have to. She heard it anyway. What he uttered next had been clinging to the back of his throat for several minutes and when he exhaled, Barry set it free: “The pain never really goes away, does it?” he croaked into her neck, curling closer when Diana’s hand began to tenderly card through the hair at his nape.

“No,” she said just as soft, her grip on his tightening. “But it becomes more bearable, less constricting.”

“When does that start?” Barry asked her weakly.

"I don't know," Diana said, the tiny, defeated laugh that ripped out of her throat was bloody as a newborn. "I am still trying to figure it out, myself." 

 

 

( * * * )

 

It’s weeks later when Barry realized why he was immediately attached to Diana. He was struck by the realization just after leaving the prison to see his Dad and Diana had texted him, wondering how he was doing, when he just stopped walking, when he stilled.

Diana reminded him of his mother.

It wasn’t that they looked alike—Nora Allen had had dark auburn hair and blue eyes—or that they sounded alike, not with the lilt of a Greek accent in Diana’s voice, it was just their _essence_. His mom had been one of the kindest people he ever had the good fortune to know. She laughed loudly and with her whole face; she used to put on old records and he'd stand on her toes while they danced around the living room. She'd read to him every night until he decided he was too old for that sort of thing (why, why, _why_ had he ever insisted she stop? What he wouldn't give for one more story). And the way she looked at his dad, hell, the way he looked back at her; they were the only two people in the world and didn't mind at all when he'd come bursting in, content to let him be their little moon revolving around them both. 

Diana had this overwhelming need to protect people, to deliver kindness to those who lacked it and to offer strength where it was direly needed. She pitched herself into situations that they could not handle, sorted them with fierceness and grace. She loved with her entire being, made sure others knew how cared for they were, and Barry, if it were at all possible, never, ever wished to let her down.

His only comfort was that, as far as he was aware, she could not be killed. Barry wouldn't have to lose her.

_He wouldn't have to lose her._

(That is where the similarities ceased.)

 

( * * * )

 

They talked daily, anything from emails concerning Justice League business to an article from the Central City newspaper’s art section that Barry thought Diana might take interest in to Diana sending him a list of lawyers she knew to be reliable, that might be willing to take his father’s case. He sent her funny cat pictures, to which she’d reply with laughing emojis and his head spun at the fact that an age old goddess even knew what an emoji _was._ She will send him recipes for him to try, stuff with high carbohydrate counts that fill his belly a fraction longer than some of the other things he eats. Barry tells her about how his job as a low-level worker in a crime lab is going and she is his cheerleader from across the globe. He finds a source of comfort in Diana that he has not known for a long, long time and thinks that maybe, she finds comfort in him, too. 

They talked daily.

Until they didn’t.

 

( * * * )

 

Barry hadn’t heard from Diana for over a month and a half. He had called Bruce twice a day for two weeks and on the first day of the third week, Bruce finally learned to send him right to voicemail. He sent the same text like clockwork: _When I make contact with her, you’ll be the first to know. Otherwise, unless it is a world-ending emergency, stop calling me or I will sue you for harassment._

“Hard-ass,” Barry grumbled, pocketing his phone in time for it buzz against his upper thigh.

According to Vic, all of fifteen minutes previous, Diana responded to an email for the first time in several weeks. He practically fumbled his way to her number in his contacts, pressing the dial button with a flourish of his thumb.

She picked up after two rings. “Barry,” Diana greeted warmly, as though she hadn’t scared him for not responding, as though he wasn’t ready to dash across the ocean to Paris to shake her by the shoulders. “How are you?”

“How am I?” Barry echoed. “Di, where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for ages!” He wasn’t angry with her, wasn’t exactly certain he could muster up anger at Diana, but his exasperation shined through her words with an impressive crystal clarity that she couldn’t possibly miss.

“I’m sorry,” Diana murmured, so genuine in her apology his teeth ached at the root. “I did not mean to worry you.” He bit back _well, you did anyway_. “There’s been a development that has kept my attention trained in Paris. I’ve been meaning to call, but…” and she trailed off, her brow likely furrowing as she attempted to finish her thought. She did a roundabout with: “Would you like to come visit?”

He blinked, momentarily thrown. “Um, sure?”  The lab where he worked was closed on the weekend and Barry was pretty sure he’d not be too scrutinized if he clocked in a sick day or two. It would be worth it if he got to see Diana.

He could _hear_ her smile. He didn’t think it was possible to detect the wattage of someone’s smile over the phone before. “When is the earliest you think you could come?”

Barry had his visit with his father in two days; he’d never missed one. “Uh, three days from now?”

“Good,” she said, and Barry doesn’t have to strain to imagine the size of her smile, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. “Good. I’ll get a ticket and email it to you, yes?”

“Yeah,” Barry said, warming to the idea of Paris and hamming it up in pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower. He was ready to spam the JL group chat with French-themed puns. “Yeah, I can’t wait.”

 

( * * * )

 

Paris was loud. Barry’s lived in a city all his life, but Paris feels like a City with a capital C. The boulevards were wide and thrumming with movement, people dressed well and walking quick, like they all had their private missions, like they were all off to brunch or something. Diana hadn't been able to meet him at the airport, but she sent him her location with the promise they'd head somewhere he could stuff his face and make up for all the calories the airplane food had deprived him of. 

Diana lived in a building that was five stories tall and made of an off-white brick. Each level had a wrought iron balcony, branches heavily laden  with lavender climbed up the front of the structure, leaving a semi-sweet scent clinging to his nostrils. For some reason, he'd believed she would stay in something more like Bruce's place— an overload of chrome and glass and metal. He should have known it would be something more organic. 

He was greeted by an older guy with a name-tag that read HAROLD. "Um," Barry drawled, fidgeting slightly. "I'm here to see Diana? Diana Prince?" 

Harold smiled. "Ah, yes, Mr. Allen. Miss Prince said you'd be arriving. Go all the way up to the top. She's in the penthouse." 

Penthouse. Right. "Thanks, man. Or, ah,  _merci beaucoup_?" 

The doorman didn't snort at his terrible Frenglish and Barry was glad for it, dipping by him with a little wave. Even the entryway was  _nice_. Maybe he _should_ take an interest in art, take notes from Diana in how to do well in the field. Or live five thousand years to save up the money for a snazzy place like this. Either one. He took the stairs, zipping right up them even though there was a lady coming down with her small dog, Barry didn't think she saw him and didn't particularly care if she did. He was already shaking out his muscles to launch a hug attack on Diana the instant she opened the door. 

As was said, Diana's apartment was the only one on the upper floor. He darted in, knocked out a rapid beat against the wood, flexing the grip he had around the handle of his bag. 

Footsteps came closer from inside and his brow raised because Diana was light-footed and these steps were heavier, more weighted.

The lock went out of the tumbler.

The door swung open.

And Barry blinked in shock.

Because there was a dead man standing in the doorway.

"What the  _fuck_?" Barry squeaked, wide-eyed and stunned. His bag slipped out of his numb fingers. "You're dead." 

"And you're Barry," Steve not-dead Trevor said, an wry smile curling his mouth up at the right corner. His eyes were unfairly bright blue and Barry had never been the one to wax poetry about  _eyes_ but damn it if he wasn't about to start. 

"Where's Diana?" he asked sharply.  _Tell me I don't have to deal with a sociopathic shape shifter. I just wanted some croissants, a hug from my super mom..._

The woman of the moment came out from what looked like the dining area, barefoot and whole and looking at the pair of them with as much warmth as one could possibly contain. "Barry—"

All the confusion he was harboring burst forth with a plethora of questions: “What did you _do_? How is he here? Did you use the same pool that brought Clark back? I thought it got fried—?”

“Barry,” she said, reaching out to gently cradle his elbow in her palm. He had never stopped looking at Steve, didn’t until she’d touched him. “Slow down. Let me explain, yes? That is, after all, why I asked you to come here.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I thought you asked me to visit because you missed me.”

“I did,” Diana amended, smiling at him and his heart clenched at the sight despite himself. “But that’s not the entire reason.”

In the end, the deal with Steve Trevor was this: Diana’s dad, Zeus, had apparently been an absentee parent and, in seeing how good his daughter was, in tallying up all the lives she’d saved and the masses of kindness she’d spread, decided to bring Steve back as a token of gratitude. He doesn’t ask if she could get in contact with Zeus again, if her father could do him a solid and bring back his mother, because he’s so stunned with joy for Diana that he can do little else than shoot forward to embrace her.

Barry lifted her off her feet, swinging her around in several elated circles. 

“I’m so happy for you,” he breathed, smacking a kiss to the side of her head. “I was going to yell at you for the radio silence, but yeah, no I get it now. I totally get it.” He doesn’t say _if I had my mom back, no one would hear for me for a while, either._ Well, that was a lie—he’d probably flood everyone’s inbox with all-capped messages, with pictures, with as many exclamation points as he could tap out to express his joy.

It was enough, for the moment, to live in Diana’s elation. He knew what was different about her, now that he was assured Steve wasn’t some evil doppelganger trying to cause her harm: while she had not lost all the depths to her gaze, hadn’t completely reverted to some fresh-faced fighter who’d never seen war or destruction, being with Steve again, having the reassurance that he was whole and _with her_ had shaken away too many shadows for Barry to count.

Diana pecked him on the jaw, patting his cheek. “It is good to see you, Barry.”

He beamed. “You, too, Di.”

Barry rounded back and clapped Steve into a hug, too. Grinning sheepishly when Steve let out an _oof_ of surprise. "I'm sorry about being kind of a dick when you first opened the door. I just didn't expect..." 

"To be greeted by a dead man," Steve finished. He gave a shrug, like this sort of thing happened every other day. It wouldn't be that surprising if it did, given the circumstances. He put out a hand. "Steve Trevor, if that wasn't clear. It's nice to finally meet you, Barry." Barry took Steve's hand, probably shook it a little too hard, but the other man didn't have anything to say about it. "Diana's had nothing but good things to say about you." 

“That’s good, because she’s done nothing but sing her praises for you, too.”

After a bit more small talk, where they moved into the kitchen—Barry does a quick round of the place, staying out of Diana’s room because he has manners, thank you very much, _Bruce_ —when something occurred to him. “Hey, Di? Does the rest of the League know about…?”

Diana and Steve had never moved further than a few feet from one another, standing at each other’s sides on the opposing side of the kitchen island. Her hand was idly rubbing over the band of an old watch that wrapped around Steve’s wrist, and Steve leaned in to kiss her shoulder, unconsciously, sweetly.

“No,” Diana said. “You are the first we’ve decided to tell.”

He doesn’t miss the plural _we_. “Are you going to tell them? Eventually?" 

"Yes. But not now." 

 _They're in the honeymoon phase,_ Barry realized.  _They don't want anyone to know what's going on because they don't want any interference._ And yet, he'd been invited here, had been trusted with this piece of Diana's life, anyway. He wanted to jump across the speckled granite island to embrace her once again, but settled for rushing to say: "I won't tell any of them, I swear. You've got my word." 

"I know I do." Her mouth curved up, lips parting to shoot him a flash of her even, white teeth. Steve was in total heart-eyes mode, tipping his face to look at her. Barry would keep his trap shut til the end of time to keep from bursting the precious bubble they'd formed and called home. On his dash around the apartment, he'd noticed a male's jacket hanging on a hook by the door with Diana's, books on aviation, a bottle of cologne on the bathroom sink, an open newspaper on the coffee table: they'd already fallen back together, had already mingled their things with the other's. The observation made a smile grow and stay on his face. While he's never quite grasped one, himself, Barry knows how important second chances are, how treasured they should be if somebody was every lucky enough to get one: he'd be damned if theirs got ruined, if theirs was tarnished in any way, shape or form. "Now," she added. "I think I promised you something to eat." 

"Oh," Barry said, having completely forgotten the existence of his stomach until she reminded him of it. "What's good around here?" 

"Most of it is Parisian cuisine, as you might have guessed—,"

"Are snails any good?" he prompted. 

Diana snorted, turning her gaze to Steve. "Is that an American thing? Coming to France and immediately inquiring about snails?" 

Steve shared a lopsided grin with Barry. "I thought it was a perfectly valid question." 

"Thank  _you_." 

Diana rolled her eyes at both of them, then continued to list off their options for food. When she, too, began to trail off, glancing to Steve to see if she'd forgotten anything, the blond added: “Diana mentioned earlier you've got a high metabolism so we could get ice cream now and then get actual dinner later?” He looked to Diana to see what she thought about the matter.

If the blinding sparkle in her eyes was any indication, Barry would probably be eating ice cream the entirety of his visit. He bet there was a story there, one he hoped he might be able to weed out of them at some point.

"I'm down for some rocky road," Barry told them. It was worth seeing their shared elation, the way they are like a well-oiled machine together, performing an old dance only they know.

So they go for ice cream, despite it being the tail end of winter and the sky looked on the verge of belching out snow at any given moment. Diana and Steve held hands the entire time and from the corner of his eye, he noticed Steve bringing Diana's knuckles to his mouth no less than three times during their ten minute walk. The conversation flowed freely and comfortably, Barry catching Diana up on how everyone in the League was doing— "The Joker broke out of Arkham again so Bruce has been ankle deep in  _that_ mess. And Clark has been abroad with Lois. She's finally writing the "big stories" again and I think they were in Zimbabwe last I heard? Vic's good. We got pizza last week and played the new Call of Duty game. Arthur sent a post card to the Hall of Justice. Didn't have any writing on it, just a really badly drawn fish that looked like a penis, if I'm honest..."—and they, in turn, told him what they'd been up to. 

From what Barry dissected of what  _wasn't_ said, he was pretty sure they've used the time they've been spending together to both reconnect and to learn more about one another. Diana and Steve hadn't had some lengthy friendship followed by an equally lengthy and tooth-rottingly fluffy courtship: Steve crashed onto her island, took her into the world of man, and they knew each other all of a week before he died. She had been so haunted by all the what-ifs since he was lost to her and Barry's heart swelled not for the first time at all the potential laid out for them. What if they got married? What would his position in the ceremony be? Ooh, and what if they had  _babies_? Barry thought they'd trust him enough to allow him to babysit and he idled on the thought of how strong that child would be and if it was as mighty as either of its parents, could he incorporate one of those slings that strapped the baby to his front into his suit? He'd have to see if Bruce would make a small, infant-sized helmet...

He gave a hard shake to tear himself out of the deep hole he'd dug to spout off his order to Diana, where she recited it in perfect French to the man holding an ice cream scooper. Steve was able to utter his order just fine and Barry asked him what other languages he knew, just out of curiosity. 

"I know English, obviously, I'm decent with French, and I had to learn German to get through the war." 

"Oh, wow, that's cool," Barry told him, genuinely impressed. "Seeing as I only know basic high school Spanish and even then that's basically just 'hey', 'how are you' and 'where's your restroom?'" That made Steve bark out a laugh which, in turn, made Diana light up brighter than Barry's future, damn it, than all the lights in Paris combined. The contrast between the cool, collected woman he first met and the beaming, flushed goddess he's with now was enough to nearly make his head spin. 

They grabbed a table in the back, settled near the floor to ceiling windows that were smeared with tiny finger prints and opened up to a view of passerby in the height of the Parisian afternoon. "I'll go get our ice creams," Diana told them, shrugging off her coat on the back of the chair at Steve's left. 

"I can get them," Steve offered, alright half-standing. "Go ahead and sit down, Diana." 

"No, no," she urged, pressing her hand to Steve's chest so he'd sink back into his seat. She pressed a kiss to his jaw as she did so, a tender, lingering thing. If they kept  _looking_ at each other like they did, Barry was going to have so many cavities by the time he was back home and he didn't think Bruce had sprung for a health care package that included dental. "You both stay. I'll grab them." 

They both watched as she wove through the sparsely populated shop, her ponytail sleek and wavering between her shoulder blades. 

Barry puffed out his chest a little bit, ignoring the fact that Steve had several inches on him both in height and in build, looked at Steve as he said: “If you hurt her, you’ll have a whole line of people ready to kick your ass, me at the front of the line.”

Steve didn’t appear at all surprised that he was being threatened like this. On the contrary, he appeared to have been expecting it. Those blue eyes of Steve’s were too bright and bluer than they had any right to be. He can’t look directly at Barry and, instead, trained his eyes on a point over Barry’s shoulder. “Barry, I have loved her from the very moment I met her. I would literally give my life to ensure that she remained safe and sound, hell, I  _did_ do that and I wouldn't hesitate to do it again. So, with all that, I want you to know that I’d never do anything to hurt her. You’ve got to trust me.”

“I do believe it,” Barry assured him, nodding once, twice. “But I saw what your death had done to her, how deeply it affected her all of four months ago. So when I say you had best not hurt her, I mean you’ve got to try to keep from putting yourself in any situations where your life might be on the line. You can’t just pitch yourself back into the fight. If you get reckless and you get yourself killed, it’ll break her all over again.”

“You should know that when he brought me back, Zeus made me immortal. I’m not as strong as Diana or as fast, but i’m stronger and faster than I once was— I don’t plan on leaving her, Barry. So long as she’ll have me, I’m hers.”

Any of the tension that had been building along his spine, spilling into his shoulders to make his frame rigid fell away. "Really?" 

Steve nodded. "That's about the expression I had on my face when I found out, yeah." 

Their attention was torn from the other when a child dropped their small cone of what appeared to be mint chocolate chip ice cream, the soft serve splattering on the clean tile at her feet. Diana was there, though, and before the girl could start to cry, Diana had already told the man behind the counter to give her another, larger cone with the same treat. In the meantime, the child started to hiccup, already recovering from her loss, staring at Diana with an awe that Barry could relate to, that he had never stopped seeing in Steve's face where Diana was concerned. The cone was delivered and secured to the kid and Diana knelt down on her level to give it to her. 

"She makes you want to be a better person," Steve murmured, starling Barry out of the moment. 

"Yeah, she really does." 

Barry wasn't exactly sure of the extent of Diana's hearing range, but if she did overhear anything that passed between he and Steve, she doesn't let on. She hands them their treats—a modest vanilla cone for her, what he thought was a mix of strawberry and salted caramel for Steve, and an obscenely large mountain of rocky road sprinkled with gummy bears, chocolate sauce, whipped cream and three cherries for Barry— and distributed their plastic spoons. 

"So," Steve said. "You were struck by lightning?"

He spluttered around the cherry stem he was trying to do up into a bow. "I wasn't  _just_ struck by lightning. S'way more interesting than that." 

Steve cocked an eyebrow. "You can get more interesting than surviving a lightning strike, getting powers, and joining a team of metahuman heroes?" He propped an elbow on the table and, at some point in the last few seconds without his notice, had taken Di's hand in his once more. "Try me." 

"Challenge accepted." 

 

( * * * )

 

When he got home, Barry planned to find a large bouquet of lilies to put on his mother's grave. He hadn't done that for a while, for longer than he was entirely comfortable with, and he'd sit with her, tell her about his day, his time here with the two lovebirds in his midst. He'd tell her about his father, his job, his quest to get justice for their little family. 

For now, he dove into his ice cream with fervor, groaning when the inevitable brain freeze kicked in. 

Diana tried to hide a laugh and Steve didn't bother holding back. She aimed a smile between the two of them, the wattage of her happiness only getting higher when Barry zipped a dollop of whipped topping across the table to smear it across Steve's nose without giving either of them any warning. 

Barry knows loss, but today, draped in the comfort of this moment, he was free from it.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ fypoedameron
> 
> This fic and the series as a whole are named for "Lost Stars" by Adam Levine. Holy crap, all, it's such a good song and I love it so much. You should high-key give it a listen. Seriously. I don't think you'll regret it. Also, I hope this serves as a little something something to distract during the start of the holiday season. I know a lot of times during uncomfortable family gatherings where politics are brought up and views clash, I turn to fic and just dive in. Wishing all of you warmth and joy. See you next time!


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